Stars are like Friends
by WolfLeap
Summary: Scott's daughter is about to go to school for the first time, however she does not want to leave her Father behind ...


**Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds just as well as the next person on fanfiction. All rights reserved to the franchise's owners.**

**A/N: This is for JoTracy123 for inspiring me to write this ... Thank you! xo  
Reviews are more than welcome, as they mean the world to me! =)**

**WolfLeap xx**

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I had called her name many times, urging her to move, yet she remained still on her belly. Her Grandfather whispered something softly beside her, yet she continued to scribble with her coloured crayons. Not even her Uncle Virgil, playing his Grand Piano in our villa's lounge, could get her to spring off the floor with enthusiasm. I folded my arms, leaning against the wall by the entrance. If she did not move in the next five minutes, she would surely be late for her first day at school.

I was already losing patience, though I managed to remind myself to be gentle – she would only go running to hide if I snapped at her. I called for her again, this time she finally acknowledged, looking over her shoulder at me. I raised my eyebrows, indicating her to follow me. She gave me her puppy-eye look, begging me for her to stay home. Most five-year-olds are excited for their first day of education, but not my daughter – she did not want to leave her family's presence. Like a lamb staying close to it's mother, trusted by her comfortness, Genevieve felt she was not ready to step out into the world beyond Tracy Island.

I shook my head, approaching towards her slowly with my extended arm. Genevieve let out a sad sigh, knowing that I was not going to give into her pleads, she returned back to her drawing. I looked at my Father, who had been watching my actions, for help. It was in his return, telepathically, that I instantly understood what he was saying; It was Genevieve's father, I - Scott Tracy, who must be the one to bring his daughter out of her shell. God, how did he manage to send me and my brothers to school during our childhoods?

I kneeled down beside her, watching over her shoulder as she drew (remarkably well for a young child) her Father's favourite aircraft – _Thunderbird 1_. I smiled at her wonderful creation. Seeing my shadow shade her picture, she looked up at me. She smiled in delight, her blue eyes sparkling. "Daddy's plane."

I stroked her beautiful dark brown hair. "That's really good, honey. But where are the rest of the Thunderbirds? I'm sure Uncle Virgil, here, would want to see a drawing of _Thunderbird 2_."

Genevieve stuck out her tongue. "Nah, _Thunderbird 2 _isn't as good as Daddy's." Hearing his niece's blunt opinion whilst playing his Piano, Virgil missed a few notes as he continued his jazzy rhythm.

I chuckled with admiration, squeezing her shoulder softly. Although she resembles her Father very much, it was her mother, Julia, who she had inherited her humour from. Oh how I wish Julia was here to see our daughter grow into a charming young woman. It so happened to be yesterday which marked the fifth anniversary of her death; They were racing towards the Airport to board their flight, when a truck came head-on with them, killing my wife instantly. Miraculously, our baby-child survived the fatal crash without injuries. How was that possible? I do not know. I can only recall that day the first time I met my daughter (Maternity leave is hard to get for an agent with International Rescue). I remember holding her tightly in my arms when I first arrived at the scene. As much as I felt my heart shatter to pieces for the loss of a loved one, I saw upon my daughter as something worth living for; to raise her and give her all my fatherly love. Indeed, Genevieve and I share a common loss of a Mother, however I was not going to let her suffer the way I did when we lost my Mother, Lucille. No, Genevieve was not going to experience such heartache, even now as she is about to leave us for a day at school.

I wrapped my arms around her, warming her shivering body which she had placed onto the cold hard floor for some time. "Why don't you want to go to school, honey?" I asked her softly as she pulled away from our hug. I watched her gather tears in her eyes, my heart sinking to the sight.

"Because you're not coming. You won't be there with me."

I let out a soft sigh of sympathy. She was right … but perhaps logically she was not …

I gave her a reassuring smile. "Well Genevieve, you know how Daddy is your best friend?" She smiled enthusiastically at my words. I continued. "Well, an old friend once told me, that friends are like stars which only twinkle at night time because the Sun is too bright for us to see them during the day. You may not see your friends all the time … but like Stars, they _are _always there."

Genevieve dropped her jaw, amazed at what she just heard. "So you mean, when I'm at school, even though I can't see you, you're always there?"

Hesitating to reply, I kissed her forehead. "Something like that."

Genevieve sprang to her feet excitedly, almost tripping herself on her untied shoelaces. Laughing, she urged me to follow. "Come on Daddy! I want to go to school!"

I motioned her to stop as she nearly tripped again. I walked over to her with pride in my heart – I had helped my daughter come out of her burrow. Placing my palms over her tiny fragile hands, together, we tied her shoelaces. She kissed me on the cheek in gratitude.

Just as she turned to sprint towards the jet which I was to fly her to school with, I grabbed her arm. There was one more thing to ask her before we could set off. She looked at me with curiosity. I gave her a warm smile. "Now, Genevieve, you remember what Grandfather told you?"

She looked over at my Father, who was now sitting by his desk. She turned her glance back towards me with a shrug. I continued. "He told you that you must not mention to any of the other kids at school that you're part of International Rescue."

She snapped her fingers at the reminder. "Oh yes, of course Father, I am not stupid like Uncle Alan."

I cocked my head to the side. "Who told you he was stupid?"

My daughter laughed, burying her face in my shirt. "Uncle Gordon, of course."

I frowned at the portrait of my auburn-haired brother. At least I knew what I could do as soon as I get home … Dunking Gordon's head in the toilet should be fun.


End file.
